


how the heat can beat beat beat

by allthebros



Series: how the heat [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No Touching, PWP, Scenting, Sex Toys, miiiiiild nsfw image at the beginning of the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny's heat comes early and unexpectedly strong. Pat is there, on the other side of the locked door, to help him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how the heat can beat beat beat

**Author's Note:**

> title from Laura Gibson's 'Skin, Warming Skin'

 

 

"heat"

 

 

His heat comes early.

Three days early, to be exact, and without warning. It hits him just as he’s bending down to pick up a couple of rakes on the barn’s floor. Sparks in his core, as it always does, unmistakable.

“Shit.”

It’s a small blessing he’s alone that morning, everyone else gone to the Solstice festival in town or at the lake. It’s a brutally hot day. Too hot even without his incoming heat. The kind of day for swimming. For finding a spot of shade and not moving, which is exactly what he’d planned to do in the barn.

Behind him and to his left, the fields of wheat spread to the horizon. Not tall, yet, not golden the way it will be at the end of the summer, but vast and bright green under the sun. The air is thick and damp, filled with the sharp smell of grass, with the sounds of crickets and bees.

Jonny crosses the long distance between the barn and the house as fast as he can without running. The heat inside him already matching, it feels, the one outside, wanting out of his skin. He’s sweaty, dry grass poking at the soles of his bare feet, and he’s already unbuttoning his shirt when he climbs the stairs of the long veranda that runs along the house. 

It’s an old, big, steady house, made of smooth wood and white chipping paint. A good house. Usually filled with people, but mercifully—thank fuck—empty now. 

It’s going to be a bad one, he can feel it, and he’s not ready. All his stuff—his dildo, his alpha-scent, his day off to lock himself in the tiny building at the edge of the property that offers time and privacy and keeps the scent far from the main house—is upstairs in his room or three days from now.

His head’s fuzzy already, eyes hot and wet when he locks himself in the downstairs bathroom.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be. 

His stomach twists, tight knot of panic forming in his throat. He takes his shirt off at least, gets on his knees then on his stomach, stretching himself on the cool cool tiles. It almost hurts, his skin so warm it’s like ice all over his front. It does fuck all to help. Doesn’t abide the heat building under his skin, spread now, all over him and especially between his thighs, hard dick squeezed tight between his body and the floor.

He’s soaked.

“Fuck.” He can feel it, wet leaking out of his hole and into his underwear, his jeans, running down his crack and behind his balls.

The knock on the door is gentle, but it startles Jonny anyway. He scrambles fast to his knees, back hitting the toilet, lid falling with a loud, sharp sound that echoes. Jonny can smell him, the alpha on the other side, thick and sweet like honey. He wants him.

“Jon?” It’s Patrick. Pat. New guy from Buffalo. Jonny gasps, mouth parting and it’s hard to breathe through that, the shaky need to go to him. “Jon, you alright?”

Jonny bites his lips hard, wants to snap at him. Pat can _smell him_. Jonny knows he can. God. He almost wants to cry. He hasn’t been caught this unaware since he was fifteen. He’s better than that. Can’t stop thinking about how he’s filling the house with his heat-smell. It’s so inappropriate and he needs—a dick. 

He presses on his own with the flat of his hand, rocking his hips up to meet the pressure. Tries not to moan—fast little breaths through his nose to keep quiet as best he can, but all that it does is fill his nose with Pat’s scent. A syrupy, delicious smell that fogs his brain up even more. His jeans slide over his ass, tacky with slick.

He grits through his teeth, “Just—Pat—just leave,” and pants hard after. Short of breath, head thrumming, pulsing like a bad headache.

His hips are pumping up steady. He uses the toilet behind him as leverage, shoulders jammed good against it, feet flat on the floor, fucking up against his palm. He can’t stop himself from doing it. On any other occasion he’d not mind, but now it feels filthy in the worst kind of way. Out of control and helpless. Half naked on the floor of this tiny bathroom, unable to think straight. Fucking shameful.

He pops the button on his jeans open and pulls down the zipper. Slips his hand inside, fingers pushing on the hot length of his dick, then back. Back over his balls and behind, where his underwear is wet and sticking, presses and rubs the fabric over his taint. Uses his wrist and forearm to trap his dick on his stomach, gets good friction out of it. It’s nowhere near what he needs. 

“It—Fuck, Jon. You—It smells so strong.”

Jonny groans, whole forearm in his pants, trying to reach behind even more but stopped by the constraint of his jeans. It’d be better with them off, but stopping to take care of that isn’t gonna happen. He’s stuck. His eyes burn and he blinks the sweat away. 

It helps. Fuck, it helps to have Pat there. 

It pisses him off that the smell of him, coming thick through the door, makes his skin tingle. Makes the pumping of his hips steadier.

“I can’t—” he says, doesn’t really know what he wants to say. Can’t ask Pat to come in. Can’t get off like this. Can’t shake it off enough to get himself to do something other than fuck air and leak wet into his pants. “Pat. I don’t—”

“Let me help you.” Pat’s voice pushes through the haze, is _right there_. Right beside Jonny’s ear. Right through the wood of the door like he’s put his mouth to it. There’s only a couple inches of wood between them. Jonny’s fingers twist in his underwear. “Jon. I can—I can help. You.”

It’s not an order. Pat isn’t trying to play the alpha to his omega, assert a claim or some shit. That would make Jonny hate him right now. It wouldn’t work anyway. Jonny’s not sixteen anymore. And it’s because he’s not trying to do that to him that Jonny, says, “yes.” Because it helps. It’s good.

“You need something,” he says. “Try the brush, Jon. Under the sink. How is it?”

Focusing on what Pat says, Jonny gets his hand out, gets on his knees and shoves his jeans and underwear to his thighs. The tiles are hard under him. There’s a brush in the cabinet and he takes it, circles the end of it with his thumb and forefinger. Everything inside him wants him to let go—the clogging, overwhelming fire in his bones, the insistent throb inside his core. The way his ass feels so goddamn empty. But the brush isn’t long enough, not thick enough. 

“It’s not—”

“It’s okay, Jon.” Jonny closes his eyes and listens, repeats the words in his mind. It’s okay, Jon. “We’ll find you something.”

He’s so fucking turned on. Hard dick tapping his stomach every time he moves. Red head pushed past the foreskin and leaking. Tacky line of clear pre-come coming out and pooling on the floor. He rummages inside the cabinet, trying to ignore how he’s looking for something to fuck himself with in a bathroom that isn’t his, with his pants around his thighs, slick everywhere. He swallows hard, closes his eyes tight for a moment. Breathes. He needs to just—calm down. Stop panicking.

He closes the door and gets on all fours. Reaches behind him with one hand and pushes two fingers inside himself. They go in so easy he barely feels them. But it’s grounding, to be doing something. He drops his shoulders so he can suck on the fingers of his other hand and pretends it’s a dick. Spit slips out, soaks his hand. He pushes on his tongue.

Pat can hear him. Jonny knows Pat can hear him. All the hitching noises he’s making. The ones he can barely hear himself, past the pounding in his head, the haze of the heat. But he knows he’s making them, gasping wetly around his own hand, trying to find some kind of satisfaction with his fingers tugging at his rim.

Forget what Pat can hear. God. Jonny doesn’t want to think what he can _smell_. Ashamed of how desperate it must be. That need choking the whole bathroom and past it. Maybe Pat likes it. Maybe Pat wants it. Maybe he smells as good to Pat as Pat smells to him. Maybe—

He’s gotta stop. Thinking. About that.

They’ve both been silent for a while. But just as he’s thinking it, Pat’s voice comes through the quiet. “Jon. Unlock the door.” Jon gasps around his fingers because he can’t— _they_ can’t—”Don’t worry. I won’t—I won’t. Just. Trust me.”

Jonny breathes, leans his forehead on the tile, fingers slipping out of his mouth. He rubs at his hole with his fingertips. Spreads the slick around. He watches his fat, swollen dick push more precome out of the slit. 

“Jon?”

Jonny swallows. Forces himself to move, to knee-walk to the door. He unlocks it and retreats back, all tangled in his jeans, ass hitting the cold tiles, and stomach twisting sharply, hating the thought of Pat seeing him like this.

Pat doesn’t come in.

The door opens a fraction and Jonny’s hit by Pat’s scent. It’s less like a slap in the face and more like running into a wall. Or a wall running at him. He closes his eyes, moans before he can stop it. Pat’s delicious and perfect. He grabs his dick and gives it strong, long pulls.

“Jesus, fuck,” he hears Pat say, low and cracky. Jonny can even see the edge of his hand on the doorknob, and how it tightens hard around it. But. He doesn’t come in. Instead, he slides a dildo and a t-shirt on the floor, then reaches around to the inside doorknob to lock it, and closes the door again.

“Take the dildo, Jon,” Pat says. “It’s yours. I went—I got it from your room. The shirt’s mine. I don’t mind.”

Oh. _Fuck_. 

It’s easier to move now he knows what to do.

He grabs the dildo with one shaky hand to stick the suction-y part of it on the floor. It slides in the slickness Jonny’s left there, and he has to grab the hand towel to wipe it, get it to stick properly. 

Getting up is difficult, legs stiff and unsteady. He holds onto the sink to take off his jeans completely. Leans with his hip on the porcelain for a moment, breathing in deep. He’s so damn fucking hot. His eyes go to Pat’s shirt on the floor, so full of his scent Jonny can smell it from here.

He grabs it, shoves it against his nose as he kneels on the floor and holds it there. Holds it while he lines himself up, knees widening so he can sit on his dildo—one long slow slide until it’s as far as it can go. He’s so wet—wetter than usual—it makes a sucking, soppy sound he’s sure Pat can hear.

He feels steadier like this, though. Thick cock in his ass filling him. Alpha smell in his nose. Heat under his skin not so frenzied now. But not calm enough he’s not desperate to get off, fucking himself on the dildo fast. It slides so easily like this, with all the wet, the smoothness of the silicone. Jonny’s knees hurt and his thighs burn.

He reaches out with one hand to hold the edge of the bathtub. Imagines what he’d look like if Pat came in. If Pat could see him now. Big ass moving up and down, opened by a thick cock. All the wet he’s dripping. He mouths at the fabric of Pat’s shirt. Wishes he could lick it off Pat’s skin. It smells so good. Better than the fake stuff he uses normally. Sweat and sunshine and grass and alpha rut.

“Don’t go too fast,” Pat says, like he can see Jonny go at it. He realizes Pat doesn’t need to see it to know, he can _hear it_. 

Again. Not really doing that thing alphas do sometimes when they bed omegas. The whole dominance schtick even when they’re with an omega they haven’t claimed. It’s for Jonny’s benefit only. Just a reminder—if the heat doesn’t build up properly to break correctly, Jonny’s gonna be stuck with another one in less than 24 hours. 

There’s a thud on the door and Jonny thinks it’s Pat, knocking his head on it, because his voice is muffled, when he continues, “Imagine. Imagine that’s an alpha cock you’re fucking.” 

It flares through Jonny, burning hot and bright, and he lets out a long throaty moan into Pat’s shirt. He’s gotta change the angle, get himself just right and to do that he has to brace himself on the floor, has to let go of Pat’s shirt. He gets stuck between those two needs—wanting the dick deeper, rubbing on his prostate the way he knows it can, but not wanting to let go of Pat’s shirt, that wonderful steadying smell clogging his nose and throat.

He puts the shirt on. Gets the smell on his skin. And then, he’s bracing himself the way he likes and fucking down on the dildo—the alpha cock—and it’s. Good. Perfect. Long deep thrusts of his hips back, faster and faster. Wet slipping out of him and coating the inside of his thighs, the floor. His harsh breaths echo in the bathroom. Punchy, whiny noises he’s usually so glad no one can hear coming out of him.

Pat’s still running his mouth, helping Jonny get himself there. “That’s a thick alpha cock you’re fucking, keeping you open.” Dirty talk. Stuff Jonny doesn’t even imagine most of the time, but it goes straight to his core, and he closes his eyes, thinks yeah, that’s a dick he’s fucking. Thick, fat alpha dick. “That alpha dick’s gonna knot you.” 

And Jonny thinks—Pat’s alpha dick.

Thinks—Pat fucking him.

Thinks—Pat’s smell all over him.

Thinks—Pat Pat Pat Pat Pat Pat _knotting him_. 

Jonny likes it like this, always has. Fast and thick and deep towards the end, using his thighs to do the work. His skin is covered with sweat, slick everywhere, heat built up right to the surface of his skin, ready to break out. He pushes harder, feels the sweat running down his neck and his cheeks, into Pat’s shirt.

He must sound close, because through the haze, the pounding of his blood in his ears, he hears Pat say, “Okay, touch your dick, now. Touch yourself, babe. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t—Touch yourself, Jon. Come on. Almost there. I can smell it. So fucking good, Jon. Fuck.”

Jonny almost laughs a little, through all that. Loving the strained edge in Pat’s voice, so close to the door he must be making the wood dark with his spit.

Would maybe say something, now, if they were fucking for real. Mocking maybe. If not for the way ‘babe’ digs under his skin and makes him shoot before his fingers are completely around his dick.

The heat breaks immediately. A rubber band stretched too tight. And he cries out, he knows he does. He doesn’t hear it through the way his body shakes, but he hears the echo of it last long after. He shoots hard, hitting the side of the bathtub and part of Pat’s shirt when he flops on his side.

He comes for a long time. Lets his dick do its thing without touching it much, just running his fingertips along the length, body shaking, but cooling finally.

He pants wet and tired against the tile. With a shaky hand, he raises Pat’s shirt to his nose again, the part that’s now covered in his jizz. Smells Pat and himself together. It makes his hole wet some more. He feels it pulse weakly out of him.

“Plug yourself, Jon. You did—You’re good.”

Jonny wants to say thank you. Wants to get up and open the door and kiss Pat. But it’s not—it’s the heat. The come down. 

The dildo’s a heat dildo, of course. And Jonny’s favorite. The base comes off as a plug with a flared end that acts as a fake knot. Jonny twists it off the dildo and plugs himself, motions easy now, familiar. The thickness of the fake knot grounds him. The feeling of it really making it clear that it’s over. He clenches his ass around it repeatedly, head tilted back against the wall until he’s gotten a handle on his breathing.

He climbs in the bath, limbs slow and heavy. Showers quickly, just to get the sweat and most of the slick off him. Wipes the floor with a towel, then wraps a clean one around his waist.

When he finally comes out, Pat’s gone. 

The house is quiet, but now that his mind’s not overwhelmed with the heat, he can hear the crickets chirping, low and constant, coming in from the opened windows. The house feels almost cool in comparison, but he knows it must stink of him. He can still smell Pat.

The floor creaks above him and a second later, Pat’s coming down the stairs to his right, a bag over his shoulder. He stops when he sees Jonny.

“Oh.”

Pat’s face is flushed red, his eyes wide and dark, blond hair wet at the temples. He can smell the edge of Pat’s rut just starting. Kinda faint but really good. He hasn’t cleaned himself properly yet, is still wet at his hole, plug snug and tight in there.

“Sorry,” Jonny says in the silence. Pat’s hand tightens over the railing. “Pat, I’m so sorry.”

He means for this, now. He means for earlier. For kickstarting Pat’s rut. 

He’s shirtless and almost naked, with slick still on him, just out of a heat that still lingers on. He should go. 

Pat looks at him, saying nothing, breathing hard with his teeth sunk in his bottom lip. Jonny thinks of him on the other side of the door, how hard he must have gotten, how swollen his knot must have been. Must be now, even, trying not to look down at Pat’s crotch to check. He must have thought about knotting Jonny, the same as Jonny thought of his knot inside him. Filling him. Instincts kicking in.

He’s holding his dirty clothes, red t-shirt right on top, full of their combined smells. He holds it out to Pat without thinking. 

“Thanks,” he says. “It really, uh, helped. I kinda, you know. On it.”

Pat reaches out for it, fingers closing tight over the fabric. He can’t miss it, the smell of Jonny’s jizz all over it. It’s not—buddies. Not really right, to do this. They’re not mates, and this isn’t a one-time fuck, and Jonny’s sure Pat has some kind of omega-smell in his bag. Just like Jonny has some alpha one in his room. 

“Hope it… helps.” He lets out a shaky breath.

Pat just nods, swallows hard. His rut-smell sharpens and Jonny sticks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Glad you’re better,” Pat says, finally moving. Coming down the last couple steps and past Jonny without looking at him.

He’s pushing the screen door open with his shoulder when Jonny says, “It’ll be tight,” voice a bit shaky, still off under his skin, wanting to help Pat get off somehow, like Pat did for him. “The tightest hole you’ve ever fucked.”

Pat takes in a sharp breath, leans his forehead on the door frame. “Jesus,” he says, low, eyes shut tight.

There’s something tugging at Jonny, in his mind. He knows, far away, that he should go, that this is just… heat and rut talking. He wants to take care of Pat because Pat took care of him. In a weird, unusual way, but. 

He can’t make his feet move. Can’t look away from the thick solid shape of Pat’s shoulders.

Pat straightens back up and for a moment, Jonny thinks he’s gonna come back inside and bend Jonny over the dining room table. Take the plug out and replace it with his swollen knot. But Pat doesn’t. He waves, says, “later,” and leaves, screen door clacking loudly behind him.

Jonny watches him cross the backyard through the screen, sun catching in his hair. Watches until he’s taken a turn around the house and he can’t see him anymore. Something loosens up inside him as soon as it happens.

Then it’s easy. He’s got his own little ritual to go through, get himself settled back into his own skin and mind. He feels bad about what happened. Caught off-guard so badly. Getting an alpha he barely knows involved. Stinking up a communal space. 

He focuses hard on the little things. Jonny’s never had a steady alpha. Never had someone to take care of him—or to take care of—after a heat, which means he’s got to do that for himself.

He goes to his room to grab what he needs and goes back to the bathroom. This time he washes thoroughly. Takes a lot of time washing his hole, first with the special soap to get rid of the heat smell and then with a normal one that smells better. He sits in the bath, hot shower spray hitting his back, and cleans his dildo carefully.

He throws his clothes in the wash, cleans the bathroom until it only smells of bleach and lemons, opens all the windows that weren’t already to air the house out. He lights incense and candles, then gets started on dinner prep even though it’s barely past noon.

He feels better, after that. Settled. 

He goes back outside later, sun beating hard on his skin as soon as he steps away from the veranda. He puts a hand over his eyes to shield them from the light. Far to the right, by the edge of the furthest field, he can barely make out the cabin where Pat is now.

Pat with his hard leaking dick, all snug and tight in his toy. Fucking it like the sweetest omega hole. Getting it over his knot. 

Smelling Jonny. 

Thinking of Jonny the way Jonny thought of him. 

The crickets get louder.

“Shit,” Jonny says, dropping his hand behind him. He presses over his ass, hole getting wet again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr: allthebros.tumblr.com :))


End file.
